A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

flailing limbs.
    They were angry, Karsa knew. He had left them nothing.
    Ignoring his two companions and their brutal torture, he plucked the butchering knife from his thigh. Blood welled but did not spurt, telling him that no major artery or vein had been touched. The knife in his left side had skittered along ribs and lay embedded flat beneath skin and a few layers of muscle. He drew the weapon out and tossed it aside. The last knife, sunk deep into his back, was harder to reach and it took a few attempts before he managed to find a sure clasp of its smeared handle and then pull it out. A longer blade would have reached his heart. As it was, it would probably be the most irritating of the three minor wounds. The sword-cut into his hip and through part of a buttock was slightly more serious. It would have to be carefully sewn, and would make both riding and walking painful for a while.
    Loss of blood or a fatal blow had silenced the
dismembered Rathyd, and Karsa heard Bairoth's heavy steps approach. Another scream announced Delum's examination of the other fallen.
    'Warleader.' Anger made the voice taut.
    Karsa slowly turned. 'Bairoth Gild.'
    The heavy warrior's face was dark. 'You let the youth escape. We must hunt him, now, and it will not be easy for these are his lands, not ours.'
    'He is meant to escape,' Karsa replied.
    Bairoth scowled.
    'You're the clever one,' Karsa pointed out, 'why should this baffle you so?'
    'He reaches his village.'
    'Aye.'
    'And tells of the attack. Three Uryd warriors. There is rage and frenzied preparations.' Bairoth allowed himself a small nod as he continued. 'A hunt sets out, seeking three Uryd warriors. Who are on foot. The youth is certain on this. Had the Uryd had horses, they would have used them, of course. Three against eight, to do otherwise is madness. So the hunt confines itself, in what it seeks, in its frame of thought, in all things. Three Uryd warriors, on foot.'
    Delum had joined them, and now eyed Karsa without expression.
    Karsa said, 'Delum Thord would speak.'
    'I would, Warleader. The youth, you have placed an image in his mind. It will harden there, its colours will not fade, but sharpen. The echo of screams will become louder in his skull. Familiar faces, frozen eternal in expressions of pain. This youth, Karsa Orlong, will become an adult. And he will not be content to follow, he will lead. He must lead; and none shall challenge his fierceness, the gleaming wood of his will, the oil of his desire. Karsa Orlong, you have made an enemy for the Uryd, an enemy to pale all we have known in the past.'
    'One day,' Karsa said, 'that Rathyd warleader shall kneel before me. This, I vow, here, on the blood of his kin, I so vow.'
    The air was suddenly chill. Silence hung in the glade except for the muted buzz of flies.
    Delum's eyes were wide, his expression one of fear.
    Bairoth turned away. 'That vow shall destroy you, Karsa Orlong. No Rathyd kneels before an Uryd. Unless you prop his lifeless corpse against a tree stump. You now seek the impossible, and that is a path to madness.'
    'One vow among many I have made,' Karsa said. 'And each shall be kept. Witness, if you dare.'
    Bairoth paused from studying the grey bear's fur and defleshed skull – the Rathyd trophies – and glanced back at Karsa. 'Do we have a choice?'
    'If you still breathe, then the answer is no, Bairoth Gild.'
    'Remind me to tell you one day, Karsa Orlong.'
    'Tell me of what?'
    'What life is like, for those of us in your shadow.'
    Delum stepped close to Karsa. 'You have wounds that need mending, Warleader.'
    'Aye, but for now, only the sword-cut. We must return to our horses and ride.'
    'Like a Lanyd arrow.'
    'Aye, just so, Delum Thord.'
    Bairoth called out, 'Karsa Orlong, I shall collect for you your trophies.'
    'Thank you, Bairoth Gild. We shall take that fur and skull, as well. You and Delum may keep those.'
    Delum turned to face Bairoth. 'Take them, brother. The grey bear better suits you than me.'
    Bairoth nodded his thanks, then waved towards the dismembered warrior. 'His ears and tongue are yours, Delum Thord.'
    'It is so, then.'
     
    Among the Teblor, the Rathyd bred the fewest horses; despite this, there were plenty of wide runs from glade to glade down which Karsa and his companions could ride. In one of the clearings they had come upon an adult and two
youths tending to six destriers. They had ridden them down, blades flashing, pausing only to collect trophies and gather up the horses,